


I Wish I Could Give You My Love And My Soul

by Ricechex



Series: Something That's Somewhere In Between [2]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ricechex/pseuds/Ricechex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct follow up to/spin-off of <b><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1068852">War Wounds</a></b>. (Highly recommend reading that story first, though it's not <i>strictly</i> necessary. But this makes a lot more sense if you do.)</p><p>What happens after Dorian drops Rudy off at his apartment?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish I Could Give You My Love And My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this could be considered a spin-off of **War Wounds**. I wanted to explore what happened when John  & Dorian got back to John's apartment, but I didn't want people to feel as though they had to read the porn if they didn't want to. Which is precisely what this is - shameless, filthy porn.
> 
> I'd apologise if I felt the least bit bad about it. Instead, I'm just gonna post it here for y'all.

“John.”

His face felt… sticky. He grimaced as he blinked, realising he was in the backseat of his own police car. “Hhnnnng.”

He could almost _hear_ Dorian smiling in the front seat. “Your witty riposte has me speechless.”

“Fuck you.” John pushed himself to sitting, clutching at his head. “How much did I have?”

“More than you should have.” Dorian opened his door and slid out, opening John’s for him as well.

John glared as he hauled himself out of the car and walked towards the apartment building. “Where’s Rudy?”

“Already dropped him off,” Dorian said, catching up to John’s long stride and catching him under the arm when he wobbled a bit. “Here. Let me.”

“Right,” John said, nodding and leaning on him a bit.

“You remember _anything_ about tonight?” Dorian asked as they stepped into the lift and took it up to the third floor.

John leaned into the corner. His head tipped back and he took a long, deep breath in through his nose. “Yeah.” The lift opened with a soft _ding_ , and John stepped out first, grabbing his keys from his pocket. “I remember most of the night.”

Dorian hummed behind him. “That so? Tell me, John. What do you remember?”

The door opened, and John stepped back to let Dorian in first. “Well,” he said, closing the door and grabbing Dorian by the collar. “I remember you,” he whirled them both and slammed Dorian against the back of the door, “ _flirting_.”

Dorian’s eyes dilated, circuits flashing, and John closed the distance between them to press his mouth to Dorian’s. The skin against his was cool and too smooth and achingly _familiar_ , and John hated it almost as much as he hated himself for needing this every single time.

“John.” Dorian’s voice was soft and quiet, lips moving against his with perfect precision. A sound close to a sob came from John, and he pressed closer, hands on the door beside Dorian’s shoulders and bodies pressed flush to one another.

“Shut up,” he whispered. “You know I hate it. I hate it when you flirt with them.” His hands fisted in Dorian’s jacket as they kissed, violent and passionate and desperate. Dorian’s hands were clutching at his shoulders, pulling him as close as they could get with their clothes still on.

“You won’t let me acknowledge what we have in public,” Dorian countered, bucking against the door and rolling them so that John’s back was against the wall.

John tipped his head back as Dorian’s lips moved to his neck, teeth scraping over the pulse point just below his jaw for a brief moment before moving lower and lower. “You know we can’t.”

“You _won_ _’t_ , you mean. Nothing says we _can_ _’t_ , John; I’ve seen the rules, I know them better than you could hope to.”

“Dorian,” John whined. “Dorian, _please_.”

“I should leave,” he said. “I should walk out right now.” His lips pressed gently to John’s Adam’s apple. “I should leave you like this, hard and wanting, begging for something you can’t have.”

John’s hips bucked forward to grind against Dorian’s. “You won’t, though.”

“No,” Dorian agreed, lips dipping beneath the hem of John’s t-shirt. “And you know I won’t. So it’s a useless threat.”

“So shut up and stop saying it,” John said with a snarl, pushing Dorian back. His hands slipped to the bottom hem of his own shirt and yanked it up over his head. Dorian was leaning back against the wall that separated the open bedroom from the living area, watching every move John made. He dropped the shirt on the floor and walked towards Dorian, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he advanced on the bot. “Don’t fucking flirt with them again.”

Dorian’s lips pursed. “I’ll make sure I find different women next time.”

John growled, then stalked past Dorian and into his bedroom. A moment later, he went sprawling face first onto the mattress, the weight of Dorian straddling his thighs, hands pinning his shoulders. John bit his lower lip and rolled his hips upward, groaning.

“Is this really how you want it?” Dorian’s voice was a warning in his ear. John knew what it meant. And he had every intention of ignoring it for as long as possible. “You want it to hurt? I can make it hurt. I can make you beg, John. Either for release or for mercy. It’s up to you.”

John whined and tried to buck Dorian off of him. It was useless, just like it always was. Dorian was so much stronger; it was part of the appeal, knowing that if he pushed it far enough he could actually die. The terrifying part was admitting that he trusted Dorian not to go that far, no matter what.

“So do it,” John said, turning his face to his right and straining to look back at Dorian. “Shut me up already. Make me sorry I won’t let you touch me in front of anyone.”

Dorian’s body trembled, and John knew; now was the time to choose. “John-”

“Please,” he said softer, choosing with his tone and language. “Please, Dorian, I want it.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I _want_ it.” He felt Dorian’s weight lean forward, until Dorian’s forehead brushed against his shoulder.

“Safe word?”

John swallowed. “Pelham,” he whispered. Just like he did every single time they did this.

He felt Dorian nod against his shoulder blade. “OK.” If he still knew his safe word, could still say it without hesitation when asked, then he was cognisant and consenting. That was the deal they’d worked out. “OK John.”

The weight against his back was gone, cold air rushing in to take it’s place and making him gasp. He laid still, eyes still closed, just listening to the rustle of fabric as Dorian’s jacket and shirt were removed. He felt Dorian’s hands on his calves, soothing and rubbing before he began working John’s boots loose. They each hit the floor with a loud _thud_ , and then the hands returned to the backs of his legs. Dorian’s knees nudged at his thighs, and he shamelessly spread his legs further apart, rocking back, searching for contact.

Dorian’s own hips remained out of his reach, and he growled in frustration as he turned his head to stretch his neck. A hand reached under him, and he shuddered as he felt fingers working his belt loose. He was getting harder with every shift of the forearm against his cock, and it was almost too much.

“D-Dorian,” he stuttered as he felt his trousers being yanked open.

“Shut up, John. You’re not in charge right now.”

He closed his eyes again and nodded, mouth open and breathing heavy while Dorian’s fingertips trailed along his hips to grab the back of his trousers and pull them down. Cool air hit bare skin, and John shivered when he understood that Dorian had grabbed his boxers too. “Please,” he whispered.

The first touch made him jump. Too-cool silicone, smooth and perfect and so unmistakably _synthetic_ , gripped his ass tight, fingers digging in just a little too much. He grit his teeth and let out a whimper as Dorian’s lips touched the base of his spine, hands loosening and soothing the skin as those lips trailed lower. His tongue flicked out, too dry and too cold and John felt goosebumps on his skin as it flicked over him.

“Too much?”

He managed a nod, and the bed rocked as Dorian got up to retrieve the tube of lubricant John kept near his bed. His footsteps echoed in the large room, and John took a shaking breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. The beers were still affecting him, adrenaline mixing with the alcohol to make him dizzy and desperate.

Two fingers slicked with lube pressed into the cleft of his ass, and he squirmed. They didn’t push into him. Instead, Dorian just rubbed them over him, again and again as he used his free hand to pull John’s trousers and boxers down his legs and off him completely.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The hands were back on him, spreading him, and then Dorian’s tongue flicked out again, swirling the lube around and pressing against him just enough that the tip of his tongue pushed in. A choked sound escaped John’s throat as his breath caught. “Talk to me,” he heard Dorian say. “Tell me.”

“More,” he said. “More, please.”

Dorian obliged, tongue pushing into him again, deeper this time. John bit down on the comforter and arched his back, fingers clawing at the fabric around him. Dorian’s tongue kept moving and working into him, a little more each time, until John was panting and quivering and begging wordlessly for something more. Fingers replaced the tongue, two of them sinking into him without hesitation, and John pulled his knees under himself, trying to spread himself open even more. Dorian’s hand moved, fingers twisting and scissoring and setting John’s nerves on fire with every thrust.

 “D-D-Dorian,” he begged, groaning. “Please, _please_.”

A third finger sunk into him on the next thrust. He arched his back further and screamed into the bed, trembling when he felt Dorian’s fingers brush over his prostate. He shuddered when it happened again, then felt himself being flipped onto his back. Dorian loomed over him, leaning in to kiss him tenderly. John’s arms and legs locked around him, pulled him in. He could feel Dorian’s erection sliding against him, and he hummed into the kisses.

Dorian pulled back, and John watched as the wiring and circuits on his face lit up. He reached out and ran his fingertips over them, licked his lips.

“Let me,” Dorian whispered.

John nodded. “Do it.”

Dorian pursed his lips and closed his eyes, then shifted his hips and slid into John.

It was like Sunday dinners and movies on Christmas Day and lounging around in his pyjamas on days off.

In short, it felt like home. _Dorian_ felt like home.

John’s fingernails raked along the soft skin of Dorian’s back as he rolled his hips into John. Dorian mouthed and sucked along John’s collarbone, whispering endearments John refused to listen to. Dorian settled against him, moving slowly and holding him like he was the most important person in the entire world.

It was too much, after everything that had happened that night. Too much, too much, and John squeezed his eyes shut again, fingers threading through Dorian’s hair and urging him harder, faster, _anything_.

“John.”

“Don’t. Please.”

After a moment he heard Dorian push out a breath. “OK.” Dorian’s hips were still rocking back and forth, steady and hard enough that John was on edge. Involuntary noises slipped form his throat with every thrust until Dorian slowed, kissing his stomach and ribs.

“ _Harder_ ,” John whispered. “Make me scream, goddammit.”

“Oh your side,” Dorian said. John nodded and moved towards his left. Dorian repositioned himself so that he was laying mostly on his back with John draped over him, his hips pistoning up to meet John’s as he started moving again. John’s right hand reached back and held on to Dorian’s hip.

Then Dorian planted his right foot flat on the bed, and shoved his hips forward.

John screamed.

They’d had sex enough times that John knew first hand just what sorts of databases Dorian could access, just what kinds of talents he could acquire with quick encouragement and simple directives. He’d learnt that when it was between the two of them, John liked things hard and fast and rough; never gentle, never tender and loving. He wanted to feel it for a week, wanted to have to squirm a little when he sat down at his desk. Dorian could give that to him, for however long he wanted it; for how long he could _take_ it.

So when John said, _Make me scream_ , Dorian did.

Dorian’s hips snapped up again, and John’s fingertips dug into the smooth, unreal flesh on his hip. “Yes, like that,” he said between gritted teeth. “Just like that.”

“I still don’t like hurting you,” Dorian said.

John laughed. “Stop talking.”

Dorian’s hips smacked against him again. John gasped and keened as he felt Dorian’s hand slide up his torso to his mouth and Dorian’s cock bump his prostate. He bit down on silicone, the heel of Dorian’s thumb wedged between his teeth as Dorian held onto his face and fucked into him, harder and harder with every sigh and scream and sob John made around his hand. “If it’s too much,” Dorian said, voice low right beside John’s ear, “tap my hip three times.”

John groaned in agreement, then gave himself back over to the physical sensations. His cock ached, leaking steadily as Dorian kept pounding into him. He’d never been able to come from prostate stimulation alone, but he was sure that if given half a chance, Dorian would be the one to bring him off that way.

He wasn’t paying attention; there was too much to feel, to focus on, and his eyes were still closed and Dorian’s hand was still in his mouth and on his face, so he didn’t notice when Dorian’s other arm shoved between his side and the mattress until he felt fingers close around his cock and twist as they slid over him. He bucked into it, feeling the orgasm build with sudden frenzy before it crashed into him. He screamed around Dorian’s hand again, throat raw and sore. Then the hand was gone, and Dorian was there, kissing him and holding him like he meant something, like he mattered.

Like he hadn’t just murdered a man.

His arms clung to Dorian’s shoulders and he kissed him back and pretended, just for a moment, that they were simply two people in love.

“Are you alright?”

John nodded as he caught his breath, forehead pressed up to Dorian’s. “Yeah.” He opened his eyes and blinked a few times to clear them. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Dorian didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. It was a lie, and they both knew it. But it was a lie they’d scripted. Dorian slid to his side, sitting with his knees tucked up and his arms around them. John rolled away from him and sat up, wincing as he rubbed at the junction of his synthetic leg and the top part of his thigh, then twisted until the synthetic detached.

“Let me,” Dorian said, going up to his knees and taking the leg. John nodded, watching him as he moved towards the table. He carried the leg like it was important, like it _meant something_ other than John being broken in ways that couldn’t be fixed completely. It settled into the charger with a soft _click_ and an automated voice saying, “ _Synthetic calibration and charging beginning_.”

When Dorian turned around, John was watching him. Dorian cocked his head and asked, “What?”

John shook his head. “Nothing.”

Dorian nodded. “OK.” His stride back to the bed was easy and sure, and John settled back on the pillows, watching him as crawled back onto the bed. He pulled the blanket up over his waist, turning to face John. “Are you alright?”

John squirmed until he was on his side facing Dorian. His tongue darted out over his lower lip, and he asked, “You’re OK, right?” He gestured at the lacerations on Dorian’s face, which were sealing together quite well from what he could see.

Dorian rubbed a finger along one of the worst cuts. “I’m fine,” he said. A frown crossed his face when he felt one of them. “I should put more of the sealant Rudy gave me on them.” He leaned over the bed and grabbed his jacket, rooting through the pockets until he found a small tube. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait.” John reached out, his hand grabbing onto Dorian’s forearm. Dorian looked back at him with a raised brow. John swallowed and said, “Let me.”

For several seconds, Dorian just stared at him. Then he held the tube out and said, “Thank you.”

John sat back up, uncapping the tube and smearing sealant onto his fingers before dabbing at the wounds, rubbing it along the healing seams. “Do they hurt?”

Dorian’s eyes met John’s as he said, “No.”

John swallowed and looked away, eyes darting back to what his fingers were doing as they rubbed the last of the sealant over Dorian’s skin. “There you go.” He handed the tube back, and Dorian took it with a nod.

“Appreciated.”

John shimmied back under the blankets, pulling them over his stomach as his head settled on the pillow. “I need some sleep.”

Dorian put the tube back in his jacket pocket. “Should I go?”

John shook his head as he hit the light switch by the bed. “No.” He looked back up at Dorian where he was kneeling. “Stay.”

Dorian slipped back under the covers and scooted closer, turning his head towards John in the near total darkness. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” John turned into him, pressing his face against Dorian’s still, quiet chest and wrapping his arm around Dorian’s waist. “Stay,” he said more firmly, nuzzling against Dorian’s shoulder, his breathing evening out.

Strong arms enfolded John’s shoulders. “Whenever you’ll let me,” Dorian whispered.


End file.
